In the Life of Pre-Teen Drama Queen Taylor Skarr

Menu

Tag Archives: June

PLEASE tell me this is a REALLY bad nightmare and that I’m going to wake up screaming and moment now. Because there is NO WAY this could have happened to me in REAL life.

No flippin’ way.

As soon as P.M classes finished up, I rushed out the door [rather rudely, I must confess, but whatever. It’s not like the Prof didn’t know I was either snoozing or writing in my journal the whole time, anyway] moderately happily for someone who knows she is going to have the worst fifteen days of her life ahead of her.

I skipped all the way home [technically, I didn’t even WALK –forget skip- all the way home, because my Dad came over with his big blue car to chauffer me to my current destination. But if I COULD have skipped, I would’ve] and had almost put the Facebook-incident’ behind me when LO!!

I realize that I have SEVEN HUNDRED AND SIXTY FOUR EMAILS waiting for me. That’s more than all the emails I’ve previously received put together!! [And, OK, I DID only activate my eMail ID a few weeks ago, but STILL]

So I quickly sift through all the mail and GUESS what all the subjects are??

That’s right; “Pee-Her-Pants Girl”

Like the ignoramus that I am, I thought for a few seconds that this [Pee-Her-Pants Girl] must be this new, must-watch movie of the year and that a lot [seven hundred and sixty four, to be precise] students in my year wanted to tell me about it.

I wish.

Of course, after going through a few of them, I realized that it wasn’t a blockbuster they were talking about. It was me. ME.

Behold, citizens of America, I am Pee-Her-Pants Girl, here to save you from dying of boredom by spraying myself!!

Like this:

It was even worse than I expected. My meeting with Brandy at the airport, I mean. I thought that maybe, MAYBE, the both of us could let bygones be bygones and try to act more civilly to one another, like my mother is always telling Kathryn and I to do.

But it IS Brandy, Ruler of All Things EVIL, we’re talking about. That girl doesn’t even know what the word “civil” means; forget how to apply it towards SOME people [namely, me].

This is what I THOUGHT would happen:

[Though I’m not even sure why I BOTHERED playing this scenario a gazillion times in my head. I mean, things that I visualize seldom replicate themselves in real life]

My heart would pound at the sight of Brandy’s face as she battled her way through the throngs of fellow-flyers. My eyes would bulge as I spot her politely greeting my parents. My poor, innocent parents. She would daintily make her way near Kathryn and a slightly-less-than-pleasant exchange would take place [Kathryn, unlike me, isn’t forbidden by Mom to mildly swear at Brandy -Goodness knows why-, so her language tends to get a big colourful when she is at close proximity to her].

Then, while I try to compose myself as much as possible [since I’ve no doubt already begun to sweat my palms], she would calmly proceed towards me, her smile about as bright as an eclipsed Sun. ‘Taylor. As dishevelled and unfashionable as ever, I see,’ She would coo, her gaze never leaving mine, while holding me in a TIGHT embrace. ‘And you too, dear cousin,’ I would purr in response, grinning from ear to ear.

She would then depart from my company, the wattage of her smirk unfaltering.

Well, that’s how everything happened in my MIND, at any rate. What REALLY took place was far, far from it…:

She came up to my father and hugged him tight, her expression one of delight. I groaned internally as I noticed her stare fix itself onto my being. She skipped all the way, looking as fresh and beautiful as the most exuberant Vogue models. ‘Hey, Taylor!!’ She exclaimed, looking excited –excited– to see me. I was thrown completely off-guard.

Mistake Number One.

‘Hello, Brandy. Long time, huh??’ I tittered, bending down to give her a quick squeeze. Maybe she really has changed. For the better. I remember thinking to myself.

Mistake Number Two.

Of course, I should have known. EVIL doesn’t change. EVIL doesn’t convert itself. EVIL isn’t sweet. EVIL just thinks of different ways to humiliate.

‘You haven’t changed,’ she remarked, tilting her head quizzically. ‘So I’ve been told,’ I replied, squirming at the remarkable difference. Who would’ve THUNK?? Brandy and I were already fifty seconds into a chat and she hadn’t called me an “imbecile” or a “disgrace to the humankind” even once!!

‘Oops, so sorry,’ She apologized hurriedly, as the uncapped bottle of water slipped from her hands…

…And onto my baby-blue shorts. ‘I am SUCH a klutz,’ she admitted, fishing her bag for something. Mmm, how NICE! She’s searching for a tissue to help me wipe, I thought, already picturing Brandy and me having ice creams while visiting the zoo together. Its funny how little it takes to change my opinion about someone who I’ve detested pretty much my whole life.

Finally, she revealed what she’d been digging about her tote for… And it SO wasn’t a tissue.

‘Say CHEESE!!’ She yipped, clicking multiple pictures of me and my drenched shorts. Before I could fully register what had just happened, she flashed the phone in front of my face so that I could see the unflattering pic of myself… already uploaded on Facebook.

‘You’ve posted it on FACEBOOK??’ I shrieked, hardly believing it. What had happened to the nice, butterscotch-ice-cream-loving Brandy I had imagined having a great summer with?? And who was this crazy old hag in her place??

‘Oh Yesss,’ She hissed, ‘And I must say, you’re face in the photo is too delicious for WORDS,’ she continued, licking her lips tauntingly.

Before I did something that I would regret later on, I stalked away, fuming. So much for hanging out with HER at the Penguin Enclosure.

Like this:

We’re leaving for the airport to pick up Her Brattiness in ten minutes. After we do that, Dad will drop me for my Pattern Math class. Is there any way this day could POSSIBLY get worse??

I can think of a million things I’d rather do than be driven thirty miles just to get a first glimpse of Brandy [like examining the insides of a frog with diarrhoea] but Mom didn’t want to hear it. According to her, ‘Family is family, Taylor, and you are coming to pick up your cousin whether you like it or not.’

So much for having rights!!

I didn’t even have the appetite to finish up my cereal this morning. How could I?? My life was going to be ruined by a puny little eight year old in three hours and you expected me to eat up?? What am I, superhuman??

Like this:

Thank GOODNESS there’s no P.M class on Sundays. I’m not sure how I managed to survive yesterday.

I don’t think I can bear to show up for another class. It’s like attending a funeral of a distant relative; you have NO IDEA who the person in the coffin is or what you’re doing there, but your parents makes you go anyway. Typical.

I wonder if all fathers are alike. Do they all refuse to wear under pants unless they are ironed so much that they feel like cardboard?? Do they all live on a diet of raw eggs and three-year-old loaves of bread?? Do they all insist that massaging feet with cow dung is good for health??

Ohmygranolabar, I just realized something totally heart-slamming. Brandy is arriving TOMORROW!!!!!!!!!!!! I can hardly believe it. It seems like Mom told me about her coming here two days ago. How can THE DAY be TOMORROW???

I have to prepare. There’s a whole list of questions I have to ask myself before Brandy enters this house. It’s basic, safety Qs like ‘Do I have enough pepper spray??’ and ‘Are your fists strong enough to crush metal??’

Like this:

I got talked into this. Dad can be quite convincing when he wants to be.

It’s only a minute since the class began, but it seems like I’ve been here my whole life. It doesn’t help that there are kids directly outside this building and I can HEAR them slurp ice creams.

This is SO unfair. Why do I have to go to some stupid lesson BECAUSE my Dad wants me to?? I’m an American citizen and I have RIGHTS that I want to use [preferably before they expire]. I can’t sit around and take nonsense from everyone.

As I’m already here, there’s nothing I can do but pay attention and TRY to learn something useful. Or I could throw my notebook at the Prof’s head and while everyone’s checking out whether he’s unconscious, I could shoot out webs from my hand and glide from skyscraper to skyscraper, like Spiderman.

Like this:

Can you believe he did this?? To ME, his second born??? I always thought he had my best interests at heart, but APPARENTLY not.

My father has done something so HUMILIATING, so EMBARRASSING, so NERVE-WRACKINGLY DISASTEROUS that I think would be less painful to get a root canal while listening to SpongeBob SquarePants recite the Macbeth.

The point of school holidays is to relax and take a break, agreed?? So why did Dad have to go on and enrol me in a Summer PATTERN MATH CLASS???? I have NO IDEA what Pattern Math is, but if it has something to do with numbers, you can count me out.

WHY would I voluntarily go to some Professor’s house to STUDY during the vacations?? WHY???

Oh, I’ll tell you why. Because my FATHER has threatened to deactivate my UKdesigners.com account if I don’t. Talk about life of the party. >Mutters<

I actually LOVE math [as nerdy as that sounds]. I ENJOY working with numbers and hearing the teacher tell me I topped in another math pop quiz is just music to my ears. But TRIGONOMETRY during what’s supposed to be a time-off period??? Not while I’m here.

[I haven’t the slightest clue what trigonometry is. I just know that it’s a branch of math and it sounds damn sophisticated so why not chuck it in the entry??]

I don’t want to give up without a fight. I want to talk it out with Dad like a mature human being and, if he doesn’t give in, maybe we could kick-box.

Like this:

Courtney’s house is FANTASTIC!!!!!!!! They have a FOUNTAIN in the
FOYER and DIAMONDS in their chandelier!!!!! She lives forty blocks
from where I stay, in an uber chic neighbourhood where people gift
their sixteen year olds Rolls Royces and home-theatres.
Her building was the classiest on the street [the king of the kings,
the winner of the winners, the champion of the champions –I’m sure you
get what I mean by now-]. There were butlers buzzing around and women
draped with fox-fur emerging from behind doors every two seconds.
Courtney’s was the penthouse, the biggest of the lot. Sunlight
streamed from the floor-to-ceiling French windows when I entered.
‘Woooow…’ I whistled. ‘It’s NM, IK,’ Courtney laughed, brushing a
lock of hair from her eyes, ‘But Daddy’s buying us a new house in a
few months, so we won’t be here for long,’ she informed, shrugging her
shoulders. I was surprised she was able to say a whole sentence
without using short forms.
‘LG??’ She enquired. ‘I’m sorry, what??’ I asked, wondering what on
earth LG meant. ‘Let’s go??’ She translated, laughing. I nodded, not
trusting myself to speak.
Upstairs was even better. There were autographed pictures of the
hottest music stars, sparkly mementos from places around the world, a
cute lil’ Golden Retriever snuggled in a corner…
‘This way,’ she gestured towards her room. It looked like as if a
strawberry farm exploded in there [well, without the farm part]. The
walls were pink, the fuzzy rugs were pink, the picture-frames were
pink, the bed covers were pink… It was a little too girly for me,
but still a heck of a room.
‘Let’s begin,’ Courtney declared, perching herself on one of the
cherry bean bags. ‘OK,’ I replied, sitting on a crimson club chair.
Courtney: If someone comes to you with really good news, what would
you say to them??
Me: “Wow!! Awesome!!”
Courtney: NO, silly!! Guess again.
Me: I don’t know. What would YOU say??
Courtney: AMAZE BALLS, DUH!!!!
Me: What does amaze balls mean??
Courtney: It means “absolutely AMAZING!!”
Me: So why can’t I just say absolutely amazing??
Courtney: Look, if you want to stop soundin’ like your Grandma, you
have to follow a few rules.
-Ouch-
Me: OK. Hit me with another question.
Courtney: People don’t say QUESTION anymore!! We shorten it out to Q.
Me: Um… so hit me with a Q, then.
Courtney: If your buddy wants to take you shopping, what would you say
in response??
Me: “Why not??”
Courtney: NOOOOO!!! That’s, like, ASKIN’ for public humilia… humilia…
Me: Humiliation??
Courtney: See?? You’re NOT supposed to know words like that. AT ALL.
Anyways, the A to…
Me: Actually, “anyways” isn’t a real word.
Courtney: In my world, it is. AIWS, the A to your Q…
Me: Wait, wait, what’s AIWS??
Courtney: As I was sayin,’ the A to your Q is “TOTES!!”
Me: What?? What Q?? And isn’t a tote a kind of bag??
Courtney: “Totes” means TOTALLY!!!
Me: That is CRAP BALLS!!! How is “Totes” TOTALLY???
Courtney: Taylor, IDK who made it up. But WGLS…
Me: WHAT’S WGLS??????????
And that was how my slanguage classes came to a tragic end. Courtney
decided that I was too much of a beginner for her to train and I
decided that I’d rather wear nothing but a doormat to school instead
of stuttering around in a silvery gown squealing ‘totes AMAZE!!’ to
Dad’s boss’s daughters for a whole evening.